


Number Eighteen

by SophinaBlackwood



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, WWE Draft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Smackdown Live July 19, 2016] Kevin wasn't happy with the number he was drafted at, and he isn't letting it go. [draft spoilers]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number Eighteen

The bar was dimly lit, just the kind of atmosphere that Jericho liked. This way, people wouldn’t be able to see how beat up he was after his match with Cesaro. Actually, when he really thought critically about it: he really hated Cesaro. Like, _a lot_. Especially that stupid swing thing he did. What was it called? _The something spin_? Ugh, it didn’t even matter. Jericho threw back his last swig of beer and motioned for a passing bartender who was balancing a tower of empty glasses against his shoulder.

“Another,” Jericho said through a groan, holding the back of his neck and wondering who the fuck put on ‘ _You Spin Me Round_ ’ by Dead or Alive on the juke.

He only wished he had better drinking company.

“I can't believe I wasn't picked first. I wasn't even picked fifteenth! This is ridiculous!!! Even you were picked before me!” Kevin exasperated, slamming his cider on the table for the twelfth time that night. He wasn’t even drinking it; a little spilled out at a time with each aggravated slam, making it seem like he was consuming it.

Jericho leaned back and swiped the bartender’s kitchen rag from his back pocket as he walked away and wiped off some of the spills that were encroaching on his side of the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he raised a brow.

Kevin slammed the glass again and Jericho stifled anger as a droplet of cider flew onto his face.

“I'm better than you, Chris! When are you going to understand that?”

“Well, frankly, I'm quite offended by that.”

“UGH. You're not helping at all!” Kevin threw his hands up in defeat before hunching deeper into his side of the booth like a punished puppy.

“Look, why don't you make a list of everyone who was picked before you and beat them up one by one?” Jericho offered, dabbing the rag carefully on his cheek.

Kevin paused in deep thought, nose poking out over his drum belly. “Even you?” he grumbled, voice barely registering over the opening riff to ‘ _Swing_ ’ by Trace Adkins (‘ _REALLY?!_ ’).

“Even me,” Jericho promised.

Kevin blinked, considering Jericho with eyes that penetrated him, making his spine chill. The same look he would sometimes give when they laid together - when Jericho knew he would be in for a rough night, pun intended.

“I’d like that,” Kevin agreed unhappily.

The bartender returned, placing down Jericho’s new beer. His eyes widened at the soaked table. “Oh, what a mess. One second gentleman, I’ll clean this up for you.” He made a small noise as he reached for his kitchen rag, which wasn’t in his pocket.

“Looking for this?” Jericho grinned maliciously, throwing the rag which stuck to the bartender’s face like a toy sticky hand on a wall.

Malevolent teamwork kicking into gear, Kevin sliced his forearm across the table, splashing the spilled cider onto the bartender’s pants. “All clean!” he chortled as the bartender stumbled back, grabbing blindly at the rag before staring at the front of his pants, aghast.

Kevin and Jericho roared with laughter, each slamming their open palms on the table and pointing at the humiliated bartender.

“DRINK IT IN, MAN!!” they yelled in unison, extending their arms and closing their eyes to crane their necks back, not seeing the three large security guards ambling towards the booth to escort them out of the building.

Battered and bruised from being kicked out of the bar (and not going quietly, of course) Kevin and Jericho tripped over cobblestones into a heated embrace. With pounding hearts and gasping breaths, they kissed with a dark, painful passion that only they understood, not even caring at the passing cars who honked delightedly at them.

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose thanks WWE for keeping one of my minor ships together. _I guess._


End file.
